Aurelia Butler

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    Extra Extra! The End Times, Onscreen

    Alien invasions, viruses, zombies, meteors, natural or human-caused catastrophes. When the end is nigh in apocalyptic, dystopian, disaster or horror films and television shows, there is often a distinct moment that offers audiences a glimpse of what was known in those last days before civilization was forever changed: the front pages of newspapers.Sometimes the camera lingers on the page, allowing us to read headlines that telegraph the scramble to make sense of unprecedented events. Other times, blink and you’ll miss it.In some instances, these front pages are the last ones printed in the before-times; in others, humanity endures in the end, though it is certainly transformed.The pivotal disaster might have been long past. Or perhaps it’s only the beginning of the end.‘Men in Black’ (1997)Alien threats endanger Earth.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    At 200, Bruckner Is More Popular Than Ever. Why?

    Seven conductors share what it’s like to lead Anton Bruckner’s monumental symphonies, and why they resonate today.Bruckner, Bruckner, everywhere.There was a time, as recently as three or four decades ago, when this composer was a relative rarity, especially outside Central Europe. His reputation preceded him. He was a religious man alien to the modern world, the author of monumental symphonies that many listeners found monumentally dull.He was a provincial, uncouth, hardly a sophisticate like Brahms or Mahler. There was the forbidding editorial history of his nine (or is that 11? 18?) symphonies, and the lingering unease at his adoption by Nazi propagandists. If Bruckner was never exactly absent from the repertoire, he was long its resident eccentric.Even if some listeners still struggle with this music, though, there has always been a band of Bruckner devotees among scholars, critics and musicians. “There is no doubt that if people once grow fond of Bruckner, they grow very fond of him,” the editor of Gramophone magazine said nearly a century ago. And lately, more and more people seem to have grown very fond of him indeed.Performances of Bruckner’s symphonies seem more common than ever, and not just because this year is the 200th anniversary of his birth. Recordings come out constantly, with offerings that include fresh takes on period instruments and entire cycles from our most esteemed ensembles. It used to be that Bruckner had to be programmed with Mozart to draw a crowd; now he carries enough weight to bring Messiaen or Ligeti along with him. Attitudes have changed; clichés have quietened. Observers once talked of the “Bruckner Problem.” Now, we live in the Bruckner Moment.Conductors have played a major part in this transformation. Many of those working today are not just fond of Bruckner, but truly love his scores. For some, a performance of one comes close to a transcendent experience. Gone are the days when Bruckner was the preserve of the grizzled, graying maestro: Yannick Nézet-Séguin, for example, recorded the Seventh when he was just 31. Studying the music earlier in their careers, conductors have more opportunities to perform it; as technical standards have risen, even unheralded orchestras can give persuasive accounts of works that once posed challenges.So, what is Bruckner’s music like to conduct? Why do his symphonies, the expression of a deep Catholic faith, resonate so loudly in an increasingly secular age? How have these long, complicated works grown so remarkably in stature while our attention spans have become so brief? In interviews, seven conductors offered their thoughts; here are edited excerpts from those conversations.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    Part-Time Farmers, Part-Time Rock Stars: A Chinese Band’s Unlikely Rise

    The band, Varihnaz, has gained fans by offering an alternative to China’s hyper-polished, fast-paced modern life, with songs about pesticides and poultry raising.Before setting out on his band’s first national tour, before recording another album and before appearing on a major television network, Ba Nong had one task: finishing the summer harvest.Standing in a field edged by rolling hills, two days before the first tour date in late September, Ba Nong, the frontman of the Chinese band Varihnaz, looked over the yellowed remnants of the rice stalks he had spent the past few months tending.“The land gets to rest, and I get to go play,” he said.Planning around the harvest may be an unconventional way to manage an ascendant music career, but Varihnaz is an unconventional band.For its members — two farmers and a former bricklayer from rural Guangxi in southwestern China — the land and their music are inseparable. Rather than the usual staples of love and longing, their lyrics dwell on pesticides and poultry rearing.Varihnaz means “fields filled with fragrant rice flowers,” in the language of Guangxi’s Zhuang ethnic minority. To fans, the group offers a refreshing break from China’s hyper-commercialized popular entertainers, with music about a simpler, slower way of life, an alternative to the intense competition of modern Chinese life.Ba Nong hopes his music helps people consider shrugging off mainstream expectations themselves. “The more tolerant and developed a society is, the more diverse its lifestyles should be, too,” said the musician, who is 44.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    Paul Morrissey, Andy Warhol’s Cinematic Collaborator, Dies at 86

    In films like “Trash” and “Women in Revolt,” he brought movement, character and something resembling a story line to the Warhol film aesthetic.Paul Morrissey, whose loose cinéma-vérité films made with Andy Warhol in the late 1960s and early ’70s captured New York’s demimonde of drug addicts, drag queens and hipsters and turned an unlikely stable of amateur actors into underground stars, died on Monday in Manhattan. He was 86.The death, in a hospital, was caused by pneumonia, said Michael Chaiken, his archivist.In films like “Flesh,” “Trash,” “Heat” and “Women in Revolt,” all made on budgets of less than $10,000, Mr. Morrissey brought movement, character and something resembling a story line to the Warhol film aesthetic, which had consisted of pointing a camera at an actor or a building and letting it run for several hours. (Warhol’s “Empire” was a continuous shot of the Empire State Building that lasted eight hours and five minutes.)Relying on a shifting collective of amateur actors, like Joe Dallesandro and Viva; transgender performers, like Jackie Curtis, Holly Woodlawn and Candy Darling; and marginal downtown characters, Mr. Morrissey concocted a distinctive blend of squalor and melodramatic farce that captivated many critics and even, in some instances, translated into box-office success.The scripts, such as they were, were almost entirely ad-libbed. The stars simply portrayed themselves. And the plots defied synopsis.Mr. Morrissey, front, with, from top, Joe Dallesandro, Holly Woodlawn and Jane Forth, in a publicity photo for Mr. Morrissey’s 1970 film “Trash.”Henri Dauman/Jour De Fete Films“Trash,” Mr. Morrissey’s biggest critical and commercial success, followed the trials and tribulations of Mr. Dallesandro playing a heroin-addicted gigolo earnestly, if groggily, trying to support his wife, played by Ms. Woodlawn. “Women in Revolt” took the theme of women’s liberation and grafted it onto a sendup of Hollywood women’s pictures of the 1930s, with Ms. Curtis, Ms. Woodlawn and Ms. Darling striking poses and reflecting on their status in a sexist society.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    The Music Industry Is Hoping Halloween Can Be the New Christmas

    Eyeing the big business of holiday music, a few of pop’s major players are trying to expand the market for Halloween hits.When Ashnikko was growing up in North Carolina, their family told them that Halloween was satanic. But for each of the last six years, the alt-pop rapper and singer (who uses she/they pronouns) has observed what remains a fairly unusual tradition: releasing a single tied to a day better known for costumes and candy.This year’s track is the final entry in a seasonal series of gleefully lewd songs now packaged as an EP, “Halloweenie I-VI,” and available on “oxblood red” vinyl. Although perhaps not especially appropriate for a trick-or-treat night with the kids, the set reflects its creator’s idea of the holiday as a space for freedom through the grotesque.“I feel very passionately about Halloween music,” Ashnikko said, noting the day’s roots in the Celtic harvest festival Samhain as well as its prominence in L.G.B.T.Q. history. “It’s camp. It’s carnal. It’s macabre. It’s, like, silly. It’s the only holiday where all of those get to exist at once.”It’s also an $11.6 billion business, one that pop’s major players are increasingly tapping into. Ashnikko’s six “Halloweenie” songs have racked up a combined 100.3 million on-demand streams in the United States as of Oct. 17, according to the tracking service Luminate.The Weeknd, who hosted a haunted house at Universal Studios Hollywood two years ago, has returned with “Nightmare Trilogy,” a maze with a soundtrack from the singer. It opened eight days earlier than in 2019.“Monster Mash,” Bobby Pickett’s enduring Halloween anthem from 1962, has returned to the Billboard Hot 100 the last three years ahead of the holiday. And Billboard estimated last year that the hit could generate $1 million in annual combined revenue.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    How Jazz Musicians Like Louis Armstrong Paid Homage to Trains With Music

    Jazz lovers worldwide know well the passion that Duke Ellington, Count Basie and Louis Armstrong had for trains, especially for the elegant Pullman cars that toted them to gigs across the country. Within the velvet-appointed sleeping carriages, African American porters shined the musicians’ shoes, nursed their hangovers, clipped their hair and served them mint juleps and Welsh rarebit — the same service afforded wealthy white passengers.In return, the maestros composed their now famous songs of homage to trains. There’s Duke’s throbbing “Happy Go Lucky Local,” the Count’s bow to the “Super Chief” and Satchmo’s romantic rendering of “Mail Train Blues.” But few fans appreciated the real reason these jazz legends worshiped not just the railroad generally, but George Pullman’s sleeper car: It saved them from the threat of terrifying violence.In that Jim Crow era of racial segregation, Black people were relegated to separate and unequal accommodations in everything from schools and parks to water fountains and restrooms. Just getting out of an automobile or bus to look for a meal and a bed could prove perilous in unfamiliar cities below the Mason-Dixon line. Wrong choices sometimes led to berating, beating or worse, with racial violence reaching new peaks in the early 1900s. Even the music makers’ fame couldn’t fully protect them. Only on the Pullman cars, where they were served by fellow African Americans, could they truly relax while on the road.“To avoid problems, we used to charter two Pullman sleeping cars and a 70-foot baggage car,” Ellington wrote in his 1973 memoir, “Music Is My Mistress.” “Everywhere we went in the South, we lived in them.”Duke Ellington’s band members on a train in 1941. In the Jim Crow era of racial segregation, Black people were relegated to separate and unequal accommodations in everything from schools and parks to water fountains and restrooms. Otto F. Hess Collection / New York Public LibraryThe Count Basie Orchestra did, too. Traveling in stylish Pullmans “was my piece of cake,” Basie recalled in his 1985 autobiography, “Good Morning Blues.” “Lots of times, instead of me getting into my bed, I used to sit and look out the window most of the night as we rambled from one place to another. That was music to me.” More

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    DJ Clark Kent, Who Introduced Jay-Z to the Notorious B.I.G., Dies at 58

    He was a producer and club D.J. who helped rappers find their voices and fortunes, and who later became known as a raconteur of hip-hop history.Antonio Franklin, known as DJ Clark Kent, a widely respected hip-hop insider for four decades who had influential relationships with many leading rappers, died on Thursday at his home in Greenbrook, a township in northern New Jersey. He was 58. The cause was colon cancer, his wife, Kesha (Vernon) Franklin, said.Mr. Franklin’s career followed the trajectory of hip-hop itself. He entered the scene just as it was taking shape, in New York in the 1980s, and he reached prime time when rap itself did, in the mid-90s. After being a club D.J. for years, he moved on to work as a producer and took jobs with Atlantic Records and Motown.In 1995, he produced a rap classic — and his first hit song — with “Player’s Anthem” by Junior M.A.F.I.A., a group formed by the Notorious B.I.G., who also appeared on the track. The song became a breakout single for the group and introduced Lil’ Kim to the international hip-hop audience.The next year, he produced three songs on Jay-Z’s debut album, “Reasonable Doubt.” His most noteworthy contributions were to the song “Brooklyn’s Finest.” Mr. Franklin provided the vocals for the hook, and he suggested to Jay-Z and his manager, Damon Dash, that they include Notorious B.I.G. on the track. The two somewhat hesitantly agreed — without realizing that Mr. Franklin had already asked Notorious B.I.G. to wait downstairs. The collaboration took place instantly.That kind of behind-the-scenes orchestration was ordinary for Mr. Franklin. In 1998, he saw a young man who went by Shyne freestyling in a barbershop, then introduced him to Sean “Puff Daddy” Combs, who signed him to a record deal on the spot.“I practically knew every rapper before they made their records,” Mr. Franklin told the pop culture publication Complex. “They wanted to be familiar with the D.J.s and what was happening in hip-hop. I was happening in hip-hop.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    David Harris, Actor in the Cult Classic ‘The Warriors,’ Dies at 75

    He played Cochise, a member of the Warriors gang who navigated a panoply of costumed aggressors in New York City.David Harris, who played a member of a street gang in the 1979 cult classic movie “The Warriors,” died on Friday at his home in New York City. He was 75.His daughter, Davina Harris, said the cause was cancer.As the Warriors evaded and did battle with rival crews in New York City streets and subway cars, Mr. Harris in the role of Cochise dutifully supported his brothers. In a gang that conformed to matching red leather vests, Cochise cut a defiant presence with his headband and turquoise necklaces that bobbed to the rhythm of their violent journey home to Coney Island.After the Warriors are falsely accused of killing a gang leader, they have to navigate a panoply of colorful and costumed rivals — malevolent mimes, pinstriped baseball bat thumpers and villains aboard a school bus fit for “Mad Max.”In a movie with moments (the sinister bottle clinking, the baritone bellow of “Can you dig it?”) that have been recreated and parodied in media in the decades since the film’s release, one of Mr. Harris’s scenes inside a rival gang’s den was a central point in the mayhem.After being seduced by an all-female gang, a party in an apartment quickly turns sideways, with a hand near Mr. Harris’s face suddenly wielding a switchblade. He bobs and dodges, jumps and jukes before swinging a chair and plowing through a door that allows him and his fellow members to escape bullets and blades.“We thought it was a little film that would run its little run and go, and nobody would ever talk about it again,” Mr. Harris said in an interview in 2019 with ADAMICradio, an online channel about TV, films and comics.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More